


You're Looking At It

by justadreamfox



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Asexual Kevin Day, Can "L.A." be an AU?, Fluff, Gift Fic, Happy Birthday Mads!, Kandreil - Freeform, M/M, Model Neil Josten, Multi, Music Producer Andrew Minyard, Neil has a gun (again), POV Kevin Day, Popstar Kevin Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29844018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/pseuds/justadreamfox
Summary: Kevin Day, one half of the world famous pop duo Nevermore, just wants to step out of Riko's shadow - and out from underneath him too. It takes a car crash to get free, but Andrew and Neil are there to pick up the pieces.Sometimes it just takes a little drama to get back to the place you were supposed to be the whole time.
Relationships: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Kevin Day/Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 16
Kudos: 116





	You're Looking At It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makebelieveanything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makebelieveanything/gifts).



> For Mads - betadestroyer, defender of innocents, and all around fluffy cupcake - without whom my commas would all be out of place and my sentences of Faulknerian proportions.
> 
> This Neil has been living rent free in my head for awhile, and I can think of no better person to gift him to. Happiest of birthdays to you my friend. <3
> 
> Side note: [THIS](https://www.luxuryhomeslosangeles.com/idx/32554-pacific-coast-highway-malibu-ca-90265/18049280_spid/) is Andrew and Neil's house. I highly recommend you get the visual in your head before you read.

Murmured words of French bubble and pop around him, fizzy and floating and familiar. Kevin tries to blink his eyes open but they are stuck. The constant metronome of mechanical noises hits his brain like the baseline of the first song he wrote with Neil and Andrew. 

Beep. _French._ Bop. _French._ Boop. 

His head is stuffed with wool, his whole body weighed down, his mouth dry. 

Beep. _French._ Bop. _French._ Boop. 

He licks his lips. That is definitely Neil talking. He concentrates on his eyelids again, thinks about swiping his face with his hand, but it is too heavy to lift. Figures. 

Kevin gives up on sight, manages a small croak for his opening salvo, and then, “Neil, stop flirting with Jean.” 

He thinks he says the words okay, but the result is silence, so he tries again. “He’s a menace Jean, all talk and no follow through.” 

That gets him a huff of amusement. “Can someone open my eyes for me?” Kevin asks. 

Something warm and damp lands on his eyelids, which is nice, and when it lifts he cracks one lid open to see Jean and Jeremy and Neil hovering around his bed. Which is, incidentally, a hospital bed. The machines around him are distracting and musical still, though the fog is clearing from his head. 

Beep. Bop. Boop. 

“Why are you here?” Kevin asks. He isn’t talking to Jean and Jeremy, his bodyguards who are always at his side - he is, in fact, talking to the auburn haired, tattooed, hot mess standing at the end of his bed with a tiny smirk on his perfect face - but it is Jeremy that speaks. 

“You were in a car crash. With Riko.” 

Oh. Right. There had been drinks. An argument. Kevin told Riko he wanted out. Out of the band, out of their relationship. It had been raining. Kevin remembers the rain, the leather of Riko’s car, Riko’s anger. 

“But why are you here?” he asks Neil again. Neil drops a hand on Kevin’s leg, and Kevin realizes his other leg is in a brace. Neil’s fingers wrap around his ankle like they belong there.

“We’re still listed as your emergency contact. The hospital called us,” Neil says. 

Kevin blinks at that bit of information. Makes sense. His brain is trying to fuzz out again, but he has questions. Kevin lets his eyes close, barely manages, “Riko?” 

“In a coma, but stable,” Jean says. 

“Fuck him,” Kevin says quietly, silencing the room again. He’s so sleepy, but something taps at the corner of his mind. “Neil. You said _we.”_ His voice is smaller than he wants it to be. 

There’s shuffling next to the bed and Kevin’s eyelids weigh a thousand pounds each. A warm hand slides into his, calloused fingertips landing on the inside of his wrist with a familiar swipe. 

“Yes. We,” Andrew says. Kevin is balanced between Neil’s hand on his ankle and Andrew’s hand wrapped in his. 

The tiniest sound he’s ever made escapes Kevin’s lips. “This is funny,” he says, and tips back into the void of sleep. 

***

Kevin sits on the edge of the hospital bed and considers his options. A cast on his left arm, a brace on his right knee, a few cracked ribs. It could have been worse. Riko is still in a coma and Kevin is being sent home. He doesn’t want to go home - at least not to the Brentwood Park estate he and Riko bought together five years ago. He can afford a hotel, a house, a mansion - a fucking island if he wants - but the idea of doing anything besides relocating to a bed that is not in a hospital is exhausting. 

“Come home with us,” Neil says for the second time. He’s tucked up next to Kevin on the hospital bed, one leg folded underneath him, David Bowie’s face emblazoned on his ripped black t-shirt, and his amethyst velvet duster spread out on the bed behind him. Neil has always looked the part of rock and roll’s bastard stepchild and he doesn’t even try. He is an apparition, for all that he’s barely left Kevin’s side for three days, and Kevin is waiting for him to disappear into the ether. 

“It’s not just me, these two go where I go,” he nods at Jeremy and Jean. 

Neil snorts. “Like we don’t have the space.” 

“It would be easier than hunting down an appropriate place Kev,’ Jeremy offers. 

“Their house is already secure. Private,” Jean says. 

“Enormous,” Neil adds. “And we have a pool.” 

“Everyone in LA has a pool,” Kevin deflects. 

“Kevin,” Andrew says. It is his _I am done with this conversation_ voice. Kevin glares at him, ignoring how his oldest friend’s biceps look particularly good in the black Comme des Garçons t-shirt. Andrew steps right between his knees. “Come home,” he says quietly. 

Kevin swallows. Nods. “Alright,” he says. 

***

Neil and Andrew’s Encinal Bluffs house is all clean lines and warm wood, open and breezy with the Pacific Ocean singing to them across their private beach access. Kevin watches the water roll in and out like a meditation while he waits for Jean and Jeremy to arrive with their things. He hadn’t even wanted to go home to pack. It isn’t home anymore - it hadn’t been home for a long time. Andrew steps up next to him, his slippers quiet on the deck. 

“When did you become someone who wears slippers?” Kevin says into the wind. 

Andrew looks down, lifts his toes up in the light pink Uggs. “Around the time when Neil bought these for me,” he says. “They are warm. My feet get cold.” He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“I wanted a house on the ocean,” Kevin muses. “We looked at a few along here.” He waves his hand to the right. “Riko said having the whole house open to the beach wasn’t _safe.”_ Kevin’s voice drips with sarcasm. 

Andrew turns to look at him, a question on his face but not on his lips. “Come on,” he says instead. “Jean and Jeremy are here and Neil’s helping them. Let’s get you settled.” Kevin turns away from the view and Andrew’s hand grazes the small of his back. Kevin stills, but Andrew doesn’t drop his hand, instead presses his palm flat, and it is all Kevin can do not to lean into him. 

“Okay?” Andrew asks. 

“Okay,” Kevin agrees. 

They find the boys down a wing of bright bedrooms. “We just need one room,” Jean is saying, while Jeremy simultaneously grins and blushes. 

Kevin rolls his eyes. “They’re together,” he says. 

“It’s new,” Jeremy says. He’s glowing. It’s obnoxious. 

“Beautiful,” Neil says, not unkindly. He points at the larger room. “Frenchie and Sunshine can take the biggest guest room, and Kevin can take the one next to ours.” 

“I’ll need to talk to your security team first thing - are they stationed in that guest house we passed?” Jean asks. Neil blinks at him, exchanges a look with Andrew. Kevin sighs and waves his hand. Jean is not going to like this. 

“You’re looking at it,” Kevin says. 

Jean frowns. “Looking at what?” 

“The security team,” Kevin says. 

“Are you saying you don’t have security on site?” Jean asks Neil incredulously. 

“But you are like - wait seriously?” Jeremy sputters. He points at Neil. “You are literally the most famous model in LA, and -” he flaps a hand at Andrew, who is now leaning against the wall, arms crossed to watch the show. “- Pipedream Studios,” Jeremy finally says, as if that says it all. And it does, really. Andrew is the most sought after music producer on both coasts and most of Europe, too. 

Neil shrugs. “We take care of ourselves and everyone under our roof,” he says, and quicker than a striking rattlesnake he pulls a gun from somewhere under his lavender Hawaiian shirt, twirls it a few times, and tucks it away again. Blink and it didn’t happen. 

Andrew shoves off the wall. “Showoff,” he says, and kisses Neil’s temple, and well, _that’s_ new. Kevin isn’t sure he’s ever seen Andrew’s lips touch anything but a cigarette like that, and something crawls into his throat and lodges there. 

“Frenchie, Sunshine,” Andrew says, ignoring Jean’s grumble about their new nicknames. “Come. I will show you the alarms and cameras, and we can walk the perimeter.” Kevin nods at Jeremy’s raised eyebrow, and then he’s alone with Neil. 

“This way,” Neil says, shouldering one of Kevin’s bags with more ease than his lithe frame suggests. Kevin follows behind him uselessly, his arm in a cast and sling, his ribs protesting anything more than shallow, steady breaths. 

The bedroom is bright and airy, sun streaming through the expansive glass windows and glinting off the waves in the distance. “This house is amazing,” Kevin says, because he can’t help himself. 

Neil pauses and looks around before his intense blue gaze lands on Kevin. “Far cry from the apartment we shared that first year, huh?” 

Kevin nods. “That was home too, though,” he says quietly. 

Neil searches his face, and Kevin waits, but Neil slips his mask back in place and says, “Get some rest. I’m making tacos for dinner.” 

“You cook now?” Kevin says, both eyebrows shooting up.

Neil just grins.

On the way past him, Neil pauses at his side, takes his good hand, and squeezes. 

***

The whole house smells edible when Kevin wakes up from his nap and finds his way to the kitchen. A taco bar to rival the best Mexican street food concept restaurant in Malibu is laid out on the counter: barbacoa and shredded red cabbage slaw; grilled mahi mahi and avocado sauce; chicken mole with black beans and charred corn. 

“Holy shit. You really do cook now,” Kevin says, dumbfounded. “This looks incredible.” 

Neil sets a giant platter of cilantro rice on the counter and hands Kevin a glass of something pink. “That’s just strawberry fresca - no tequila while you are on pain meds.” 

Kevin pulls a face at that but smiles after he sips his drink. It has basil in it, and it is perfect. “Delicious, but it would be even better with some vodka.” 

“No,” Andrew says, pointing at him as he comes into the room with Jeremy and Jean trailing him. 

Neil and Andrew move around each other with ease, an artless dance of carrying dishes and plates and cups and napkins out to the al fresco dining nook. The sun is just starting to set as they settle at the table, a funky latin beat is playing from some hidden speakers, and there are candles flickering merrily, protected in hurricane glass. 

Kevin sits between Neil and Andrew, and is suddenly disoriented, not sure if he is awake or if this is just some elaborate midsummer’s night dream. Perhaps Queen Mab will appear and smite him on his brow, and he’ll awake in bed next to Riko, trapped all over again. 

“Kevin?” 

Kevin blinks. Andrew and Neil are both looking at him. He wonders if he made a noise. “Domestic, isn’t it?” he says, forcing a smile. 

Andrew frowns. Neil opens his mouth to say something but apparently thinks better of it. He takes Kevin’s plate instead, puts one each of the tacos on it. “Try the barbacoa first,” Neil says. “They are Andrew’s favorite.”

***

The next morning has stretched and settled into the perfect California day by the time Kevin manages to crawl groggily out of bed to join Andrew on the veranda. 

“Neil?” Kevin asks as he sips his coffee. 

Andrew inclines his head and Kevin sees Jeremy standing in the middle of the repurposed tennis court, Neil’s tattooed arms peeking out from either side of him. Jean stands off to the side paying rapt attention as Neil positions Jeremy’s throwing arm and steps back. Jeremy throws the knife, and it lodges in one of several targets on the other end of the court. Kevin can hear Jeremy’s triumphant whoop from here. 

“Still into the knives I see,” Kevin says. 

Andrew nods, the tiniest smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I think Neil is enjoying his playdate.” 

“Jeremy too, by the looks of it,” Kevin says with a small snort. They watch him line up his next throw without Neil’s help. This time the knife lands a little farther out from center, but still on the target. 

“They had the guns out earlier,” Andrew says. 

“What? How? I didn’t hear gunshots,” Kevin says, surprised. 

“Neil has gotten into silencers,” Andrew says drily. 

Kevin legitimately snorts at that. “He’s kind of feral, you know.” 

“I know,” Andrew says fondly. 

Jean takes a turn with the knives and is immediately better than Jeremy. Jeremy pouts, Neil laughs, and Jean actually cracks a smile. Neil gathers up the knives and throws them lightning fast, one after the other, making a tiny circle around the bullseye, and Jean and Jeremy both toss their hands up in defeat. 

“So,” Andrew breaks the silence when Jeremy takes the knives in hand again. “Riko is awake.” 

Andrew hands him his phone, which has an LA Times article pulled up. 

_Riko Moriyama wakes from coma after serious car crash with Kevin Day:_ _Outpouring of love from Nevermore fans around the globe._

“Fuck him,” Kevin mutters. 

“Yes, you’ve said that,” Andrew says, tucking his phone away. “Do you want to tell me why?” 

_No,_ Kevin thinks. He sure doesn’t. 

Andrew is patient though, always has been. He pours more coffee for them both. Neil moves on to demonstrating knife throws on the move, tumbling dramatically then rising up to one knee to hit the bullseye dead center. Jeremy’s delighted laughter floats up to them on the salty breeze. 

Kevin sighs. “I was trying to leave - leave him, and Nevermore.” 

Kevin stops. Andrew waits. 

“It was just in the studio, at first,” Kevin says after he gathers his courage. “He was holding me back, cutting my vocals. It was never supposed to be him or me - it was supposed to be the both of us, together. But at some point Riko became number one, the frontman. I woke up one morning and realized I was a glorified back up singer.” 

Kevin sneaks a look at Andrew, but his face is calm, watching Kevin, not reacting. Kevin figures it can’t be new information. Andrew knows music, has surely watched the progression of Kevin’s career over the last five years. 

“It wasn’t just in the studio,” Andrew says when Kevin stays quiet. A question, but not a question. 

“It wasn’t just in the studio,” Kevin agrees. “He-,” Kevin starts, stops. Waves a hand. Doesn’t know how to say this to Andrew. “He and I-,” he trails off, the feeling of cruel fingers digging into his skin suddenly fresh in his mind, bruising kisses he hadn’t wanted, the look of disgust in Riko’s eyes. “It was good, in the beginning,” Kevin finally says. “And then it was bad. I don’t know how it happened, but it was gradual. I didn’t realize it until…” 

“Until what?” Andrew prompts. He’s swung around in his chair, leaned forward now, his hands draped casually in the air from elbows propped on knees and Kevin wonders what would happen if he slid his hands into Andrew’s. 

“It’s always about the sex, isn’t it?” Kevin says with a little broken laugh. 

Andrew is quiet at that, and Kevin can’t quite manage to look up into his eyes, but then Andrew’s hand is moving slowly, carefully, like Kevin is a wild animal that needs taming - which is ironic. Strong fingers cup his chin, and Andrew tilts Kevin’s face up until he has to look him in the eye, and _oh._

Andrew is fucking livid. 

“I have told you this before, but obviously you need to hear it again. There is nothing wrong with you. You do not owe sex to anyone - not your boyfriend, not anyone, not ever.” 

“I know,” Kevin says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes. Andrew, yes. I know. I was - I was breaking up with him that night. The crash. I was leaving him.” 

Andrew stares at him, but relaxes his grip, lets him go with a lingering brush of fingertips along his jawline. 

“Good,” Andrew says, settling back on his chair.

***

Riko’s first call comes that afternoon, but Kevin doesn’t answer it. 

He tries three more times before he starts ringing Jeremy, and then - in an act of what must be pure desperation - he tries Jean. 

Riko knows Jean hates him. 

Kevin deletes the voicemails without listening to them. 

“Do you have a lawyer?” Neil asks after they all turn their phones off. Andrew had filled him in while Kevin napped again - stupid pain killers - and of course Jean and Jeremy already know everything. 

“We aren’t married,” Kevin says.

“Of course he has a lawyer,” Jean pipes up. “He just hates him.” 

“My lawyer is the same as Riko’s lawyer,” Kevin admits. 

“Well that won’t fucking do,” Neil says. 

“I know,” Kevin says. 

“Use ours, she’s amazing,” Neil suggests. 

“Do I really need a lawyer?” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew cuts in. “You own a house together. You have recording contracts together. This is going to be complicated and fucked. You need Madison.” 

“Madison?” 

“Our lawyer. Madison is the best,” Neil says, pulling out his phone. “I’ll get her to come tonight for poker.” 

“Your lawyer comes to poker night? Jean asks.

“We’re her only clients. We keep her on an exclusive retainer,” Neil says without looking up.

“Yes, keeping Neil out of prison is a full time job.”

Neil sticks his tongue out at Andrew and pockets his phone. “She’ll be here.” 

***

Madison is not what Kevin expects. 

Five foot four with a side helping of feisty the size of Nebraska, she waltzes in sporting mismatched pajamas and a six pack of craft beer. 

She certainly doesn’t bat an eye at Kevin Fucking Day standing in the middle of the kitchen. 

Instead she ruffles Neil’s hair and fistbumps Andrew, and says, “Alright nerds, I hope you brought cash ‘cause imma clean you out tonight.” 

Jeremy twirls one of the longnecks to read the label and Madison spins around, pins him with a sharp pointer finger and a glare. “Keep your hands off my beer,” she says. 

“Yes ma’am,” Jeremy says, backing away with his hands in the air and a grin on his face. 

Neil smothers his laughter into the back of his hand and Andrew’s lips twitch. 

Neil manages to pull himself together enough to make the introductions. “Mads, this is Kevin Day.” 

“Obviously, I don’t live under a rock,” she says with an eye roll, but she smiles at Kevin warmly and offers her hand. 

“And Jeremy Knox, Jean Moreau,” Neil continues, with an incline of his head in their direction. 

Madison shakes their hands too, perfunctory and solid. “Well, now that’s done,” she announces, pulling a beer and twisting off the cap. “Time for poker and business, eh boys?”

Madison isn’t joking. She cleans them out - everyone except Andrew, whose pile of chips is only slightly smaller than hers by the end of the night. 

“Okay,” Madison says, leaning back in her chair and draining her sixth and final beer. She’s drunk steadily all night without any visible effects, her eyes just as sharp, her words just as measured as when she walked in the door. “So, to summarize, every single one of your assets are tangled with Riko’s.” 

“Yes,” Kevin says, because they’ve basically spent the last hour sussing that out. 

“And you don’t care if we go after them or not?” she asks incredulously. 

“I don’t want it dragged through the media,” Kevin says. “I just want out.” 

Madison stares at him. “Who handles your financials?” 

“The accountant,” Kevin says vaguely. 

“Riko’s accountant,” Jean pipes up. 

Kevin frowns at him, the traitor. 

“Who’s name is the house in?” Madison asks. 

Kevin doesn’t answer. 

_“Really_ Kevin?” Neil says. 

Kevin straightens his shoulders, sets his jaw, looks Neil right in the eye. “Really. Riko was happy to take care of that shit. I just wanted to sing.” Kevin can see Neil trying to bite his tongue, can see the moment he gets himself under control, the moment he lets it go. _That’s_ new too. 

Madison lets out a heavy sigh. “Okay, whatever,” she says. “But I’m not doing this unless you let me go after your shit. Otherwise it’s just no fun.” 

Neil stifles a laugh at that, and the rest of the tension eases from his body. 

Andrew props his elbows on the table and cocks an eyebrow at him. “Kevin?” 

“Fine,” Kevin finally agrees. “I don’t want anything to do with the house though.” 

“Fine,” Madison echoes him, standing up from the table and stretching. “I’m going home, I’ll send over the paperwork tomorrow along with a list of details I’ll need from you. Oh, and you should give me your publicist’s number, we’ll need to get them involved, obviously.” 

“Um.”

“No. Don’t tell me.”

“Riko’s publicist,” Jean and Jeremy say in unison, which makes them crack up. 

“You’re both fired,” Kevin says grumpily.

Madison swings her deadly pointer finger around to Andrew. “Get him a new publicist before noon tomorrow. A good one.” Instead of stabbing her, Andrew nods, and Kevin doesn’t even know what world he is living in anymore. 

Madison stops in front of him, twirling her keys on one finger, and gifts him with that contradictory warm smile. Kevin is simultaneously terrified of her and wants her to wrap him in a hug. “It’s going to be okay Kevin Day. I’m the best there is and I’ve got your back now.” 

With that, she squeezes his good shoulder and walks out the door. 

***

Kevin quits taking his pain meds the next morning. The ache in his arm and ribs are only mildly worse without them, and he’s tired of napping the afternoons away like a toddler. 

“Don’t you two work?” Kevin says when Neil drags him to the chessboard he’s set up by the pool. They’ve just finished sending off the requested paperwork to Madison, and Jean and Jeremy have gone for a run together - apparently finally deciding to trust Kevin to Neil and Andrew’s more than capable hands. 

Neil’s orange kimono floats around him as he fusses over Kevin, getting him settled into the lounge chair behind the black pieces before flopping on the other lounge. “We cleared our schedules,” Neil says in answer to Kevin’s question as he pushes a pawn forward two spaces. 

Kevin gapes at him. “What do you mean?” 

“We cleared our schedules,” Andrew says from the lounge chair behind him. “Exactly what it sounds like.” 

“Why?” 

Neil flaps a hand at his pieces and Kevin moves a pawn. Neil moves again immediately. 

“Because you are family, dumbass. Your move.” 

Kevin stares. “But we’ve barely talked,” he says, frustrated and confused. “It’s been six years. We’ve barely talked. I don’t know why you are doing all of this for me.” 

Neil blinks up at him through his stupid long lashes, and Kevin thinks that he’s seen that exact look in one of Neil’s Burberry ads. “Don’t you?” he asks. 

Kevin is drowning in that _look,_ is tilting forward, might have been swallowed up by the depths except that Neil’s phone goes off and they both startle. 

“It’s Allison,” Neil calls to Andrew over Kevin’s shoulder, and the two of them get up to pace by the pool, passing the phone back and forth and leaving Kevin to wrestle with his complicated feelings. 

When they come back, Neil shoves his phone into his back pocket, and Andrew takes Neil’s place on the lounge in front of the white pieces. 

“Oh, you’ll play with Kevin and not with me?” Neil arches a brow and props a foot up to tighten the loose laces on his Docs. 

“You cheat,” Andrew says, moving his queen’s knight up two and over one. 

“Fair,” Neil concedes, “but it’s only because you two were always so bloody good it was the only way I could win.” He leans down to tuck a hand into Andrew’s hair, and kisses him behind his ear. Kevin tries not to catalogue Andrew’s answering shiver. 

He feels Neil’s eyes on him then, and before he can register it the menace hops over the low table and leans in close to Kevin, pausing an inch away from his cheek. He smells like shampoo and vetiver and strawberries. 

“Okay?” Neil breathes, and Kevin feels the warmth of him flutter on his skin. He nods dumbly, and Neil’s lips press against the corner of his mouth. He lingers there for a second too long, trails a finger down Kevin’s cheek, and then he is gone. 

When Kevin’s heart finishes catching up with the several beats it has skipped he looks up to find Andrew gazing at him with a considering look. 

Kevin clears his throat carefully. “Where is he going?” 

“To see a girl about a horse.” 

“What?” 

“Maybe it’s a horse about a girl.” 

“Andrew,” Kevin says, exasperated, but at least his heart is back on track. 

“He’s gone to meet the publicist Allison found for you. Robin Cross.” 

_“The_ Robin Cross?” 

“I would assume so,” Andrew agrees. 

“Shit,” Kevin says. And then, softly, “Andrew?” 

“Kevin.” 

“Why did Neil just kiss me?” 

“Why do you think?” 

“I have no fucking idea.” 

“Hmm. Okay. Your move.” Andrew nods at the board. Kevin rolls his eyes. Fuck it. 

He wraps two fingers around his queen and slides her to the middle of the field. 

***

By noon, Kevin has a new publicist, a new stylist, and four meetings next week with labels vying to sign him for his first solo album. 

By one, Madison has Riko served with a restraining order. 

By three, Kevin has thrown his phone over the balcony into the dunes after the tenth text comes through. 

By five, a new iPhone arrives by messenger. With his new phone number. 

Kevin is dizzy with the speed of it all. 

“Drinks,” Neil declares, plopping a pitcher of martinis on one of the veranda tables as the sun streaks orange and gold glitter across the ocean laid out before them. Andrew follows behind him with an artfully arranged tray of hummus and harissa and goat cheese whipped with honey, Jeremy on his heels with crusty slices of bread and a bowl of mango and berries. 

Jeremy and Jean arrange themselves in one of the wide low chairs together, and Andrew and Neil sprawl on the lounge chair next to Kevin. He wouldn’t have to reach far to brush fingertips along Neil’s knee, or Andrew’s elbow. 

Kevin sips his drink. For all that his ribs ache and his arm itches beneath the cast, he feels relaxed - safe even - for the first time in years. “Is it really this easy?” he asks the sky. 

“Depends on what you are talking about,” Neil replies. 

Kevin twirls a hand in the air like a homecoming queen on parade. “All of it. Leaving Riko. Going solo.” 

“So we are considering serious car crashes _easy_ now?” Neil says with an amused lilt. 

“No but-,” Kevin pauses. “I’ve wanted out for a long time,” he says into the rim of his glass. “This feels surreal. Like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and it didn’t happen.” 

“You are not asleep,” Andrew says. 

Neil nods, cocks his head. “Besides - why can’t things be easy now? I think we’ve had enough of _not easy_ to last a lifetime.” 

“Tell us more,” Jeremy says, turning a little in Jean’s arms. “Kevin never talks about South Carolina. Spill the deets.” 

“Jeremy,” Jean says warningly, but Kevin twirls his hand again and drains his glass. 

“Whatever, it’s not like you can’t Google it.” 

Neil hops up to top off Kevin’s glass. The gin is cold and lemony and just how he likes it. 

“We don’t Google you,” Jean says indignantly. 

Kevin sets his glass aside - if he doesn’t slow down he’ll be drunk before the sun goes down. “We were all in foster care,” he says. “And all of the homes were bad, to a varying degree.” 

“Oh shit - were you all in the same home?” Jeremy asks.

Kevin shakes his head. “Not at first. We met through this program at school. For disadvantaged kids. A music program.” 

“Kevin and Andrew were in fifth grade, I was in fourth,” Neil says around a mouthful of hummus. “And there was this kid - what was his name?” 

“Seth,” Andrew offers. 

“Right,” Neil says. “Seth. What a dick. Anyway, he was picking on Kevin, and Andrew just walks over and punches the kid in the nose.” 

“Blood went everywhere,” Kevin says with a little smile. 

“Everywhere,” Neil confirmed. “And Kevin just started laughing. I think I fell in love with both of you right then.” 

Andrew snorted. “You always were bloodthirsty.” 

Neil shrugs, but looks up with a small smile to catch Kevin staring at him. 

“You-” Kevin starts, but Neil can’t have meant what he’d just said. He shakes it off and looks back at Jeremy. “Anyway, we were inseparable from that moment on. Andrew already played guitar, Neil picked up the bass, and I, well.” 

“You sang,” Neil said. “Andrew wrote the songs, and Kevin sang them, and in sixth grade we won a local Battle of the Bands competition.” 

“Local news picked it up. We had our first interview,” Kevin says dreamily. Maybe the gin _has_ gone to his head already. 

“Kevin loved it, Andrew hated it,” Neil adds. Andrew hums in agreement and wraps an arm around Neil’s waist. Kevin tries not to look at them. “But Wymack saw it.” 

“Kevin’s dad?” Jean asks. 

“Yeah,” Kevin says, picking up his drink again and eyeing the goat cheese. He should probably get something in his stomach. 

“Wymack had been looking for Kevin, had only recently found out about him - that Kevin’s mom had died and he’d been lost to the system,” Neil clarifies. 

“Apparently I look just like my mom,” Kevin says softly. “Dad says she had an incredible voice.” 

Neil leans forward and piles a plate with harissa and goat cheese and bread and hands it to Kevin. Somehow he’d forgotten that Neil could read him like a book. How had he forgotten that? 

“So, he found you, took you in, and you lived happily ever after?” Jeremy prompts. 

“Something like that,” Kevin says. 

“I’d say exactly like that,” Neil says. “Wymack got his foster certification and came for me and Andrew too.” 

“Holy shit,” Jeremy says. 

“Yeah,” Neil agrees. 

“And then the three of you moved to LA together,” Jean says. 

“Kevin wanted to be a star,” Andrew says. 

“And we weren’t going to let Kevin go anywhere without us,” Neil adds. 

“So what happened?” Jeremy asks. 

“Jeremy, what the fuck,” Jean whispers loudly. 

Kevin frowns. “What do you mean?” He goes to sip his drink, and realizes he’s finished the second martini and is definitely buzzed. 

Jeremy won’t be deterred. “I just mean, we’ve worked for you for almost five years and we’ve never met Neil or Andrew before. What happened?” Jean drops his face into his hand and starts muttering in French and Jeremy pokes him. 

Kevin shakes his head. “No, Jean, it’s fine. Nothing happened, really. Neil was discovered pretty quickly and his modeling career skyrocketed. Andrew never really wanted to be in a band, and without Neil, well. Then these two started dating,” Kevin waves a hand to his left at Neil and Andrew, and is impressed that he doesn’t choke on the words. “I met Riko at a party soon after. It all worked out how everyone wanted.”

“No,” Andrew says. 

“No?” Kevin repeats, startled into looking at them. Neil is staring at him like he’s crazy and Andrew is frowning. 

“No,” Andrew says again. “That’s not how it happened.”

Kevin tries to focus. “What do you mean?”

“Neil and I weren’t together before you met Riko.”

“Of course you were. I would know. I remember,” Kevin says decisively.

Neil sits up slowly, a complicated look on his face. “What?” he says. It comes out choked. Andrew has wrapped his other hand around Neil’s shoulder and Kevin can’t tell if he’s soothing him or holding him back. He vaguely clocks Jean and Jeremy getting up, walking back inside, but he can’t tear his gaze away from the look on Neil’s face. 

“What do you mean _what?”_ Kevin says.

“Neil.” Andrew’s voice is full of caution. 

Neil shakes his head forcefully. “No. Kevin, tell me exactly what you think happened.”

Kevin shrugs lightly. He doesn’t feel light. He feels like he’s starring in a play he never learned the lines for. “I’m not stupid. You two clearly wanted to be together. I didn’t want to be the third wheel. And then Riko - well, the timing was good, he had funding to produce an album, and it was an opportunity I didn’t want to turn down.”

“The third wheel,” Neil repeats slowly, staring at him.

“Neil.” Andrew’s arm tightens around Neil’s waist. “Not now.”

“Jesus fucking christ Andrew, why not now? It’s been _six years._ Six years! And apparently it didn’t have to be this way!” Neil points at Kevin, his face flushed, and Kevin realizes that Neil is desperately angry. He braces for Neil to yell at him - god knows Neil can yell - but instead he takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out slowly, and Kevin watches him deflate before his eyes. 

“You broke my fucking heart,” Neil says, and when the words come out they have been drained of fire, leaving nothing but raw ash in their place. 

Kevin is stunned. Frozen. Everything falls silent except for the steady rush of the waves, in and out, marching and retreating over the sand again and again. An unbreakable cycle. 

Andrew sighs heavily, unwraps himself from around Neil and sits up. “We were not together when you left, Kevin. Neil and I were discussing how to ask you to be with us. We were waiting. For you.” 

“Because the sex thing,” Neil says softly. “We didn’t want you to feel pressured.” 

“Then you met Riko,” Andrew says. “You moved out.”

“We thought you were happy,” Neil adds. “We didn’t want you to leave, but Andrew said we couldn’t chase after you if you weren’t interested in us.”

“If I wasn’t interested in you,” Kevin repeats numbly. Memories are tumbling around his mind, rearranging, reordering. Kevin blinks rapidly, tries to sit up, but his ribs scream in protest. Neil jumps up and slides an arm behind his shoulders, pulls him forward to sitting, and then stays, pressed warmly up against his side. “Is it the case,” Kevin says very slowly, “that I have been incredibly stupid?” 

“It might be the case that we have all been a bit stupid,” Andrew says. 

Neil turns his hand palm up on Kevin’s knee, and it is the easiest thing in the world for Kevin to slide his own hand into that warmth, to tangle their fingers together. Neil holds his other hand out for Andrew, and Andrew takes it, and they are linked again, the three of them. 

***

Kevin crawls into bed with them. 

To be honest, it is more of a shuffle and shimmy than a crawl, wiggling awkwardly across the enormous bed on his ass since he can’t use his arm. Neil huffs little laughs and helps him along until he is ensconced in the dead center, propped up on extra pillows, Andrew on one side of him and Neil on the other. 

“We should talk,” Kevin says once they’ve settled. And they should. There are things to say. But his brain feels fuzzy from the alcohol and the emotions and he’s tired and really, he doesn’t want to. Not right now. 

“Not tonight,” Andrew mumbles into the pillow next to him. He blinks one eye open and tucks the back of his hand against the crook of Kevin’s neck. 

Neil hums an agreement and snakes an arm around Kevin’s waist, dropping his head onto Kevin’s shoulder. “Talk tomorrow,” Neil says sleepily. 

Which is what Kevin wants, after all, so he closes his eyes, grounded in touch, back where he belongs. He’s almost drifted to sleep when Andrew says, oh so quietly, “We missed you.” 

“Same,” Kevin whispers back. He pulls Neil closer with his good arm, tilts his cheek into Andrew’s palm, and falls asleep. 

Kevin wakes up to a delicate rattle of dishes and sunlight peeking through lowered shades on the windows. He hasn’t moved all night, and Neil is still draped against him. Kevin is starting to actually believe that he will wake up every morning in this new waking dream that isn’t a dream at all. 

Andrew sets the tray down, and thank Christ for memory foam mattresses because the french press and pot of cream hold their ground as Andrew crawls back on the bed. 

“Hey,” Kevin says softly, and Andrew gives him the little corner of a smile that has always belonged to Neil and Kevin and no one else. Andrew holds a cup up on offer and Kevin nods. “I need to sit up though.” 

“Shut up,” Neil says against Kevin’s neck, his words garbled. It is a bit sweaty where skin touches skin, and Kevin thinks Neil might have drooled on him, and he couldn’t care less. 

“Coffee?” Kevin offers in consolation. 

Neil mutters something unintelligible, but finally sits up and glares and Andrew and Kevin both in turn. “Early,” he says. 

“You used to get up at five every morning to run,” Kevin says amused. 

_“Used to_ is the key phrase there,” Neil says, but he helps prop Kevin up with more pillows. “Needta pee first.” He raises an eyebrow at Kevin. “Needta pee?” His eyes are only half open and one side of his hair is plastered to his head while the other side sticks straight up. Kevin grins and wiggles his way off the bed with Andrew’s help. 

They pee. They crawl back into bed and doctor their coffee and get situated. They talk. They say the things that they should have said years ago, putting back together the pieces that assumptions had sent spinning askew. 

Andrew traces patterns on Kevin’s ankle and says, “Stay,” and “Home,” and “Belong.” 

Neil sits cross legged, plays with Kevin’s fingers, and says “Love,” and “Family,” and “I’m sorry.” 

Kevin talks haltingly of “Riko,” and “Fear,” and “Sex.” 

Andrew pulls himself up the bed to face Kevin properly, and Neil lets his fingers lace with Kevin’s and still. “Tell us what you need to feel safe with us,” Andrew says, but Kevin is already shaking his head before the words are out of his mouth. 

“No, that’s not it. I am always safe with you.” 

“Then what is it?” Neil prompts. 

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Kevin blurts out before he even realizes that’s what he’s going to ask. He winces a bit, and Neil’s eyes go wide, but Andrew is calm, steady. 

“Yes,” Andrew says, and after a minute Neil nods carefully. 

“But what if I don’t want to?” Kevin whispers. 

“Then we won’t have sex,” Andrew says. Neil nods again. 

“Sometimes I do want to though, just. Not a lot.” Kevin says. 

Neil rolls his eyes. “Did you forget that we’ve known you your entire life? We know how you are wired, Kevin. Just ‘cause Riko was a fucking asshole doesn’t mean that’s changed.” Andrew shoves Neil, and Neil huffs. “What? It’s true. Look we just - Kevin you belong here. With us. Haven’t you always known that, even if we all kinda fucked it up?” 

Kevin nods. He _has_ always known that, he just didn’t know Andrew and Neil knew it too.

“Good,” Neil says. He gets his knees under him and puts a hand on either side of Kevin’s face. “Then why do you think we’d ever want more than you were willing and able to give?” 

Neil’s arctic eyes are very close, and very serious and Kevin loves him very much. 

“Can I kiss you?” Kevin asks. 

“Coffee breath,” Neil says, but his gaze drops to Kevin’s lips. 

“Like I care,” Kevin says, and Neil takes him at his word and presses their lips together. 

It isn’t tentative. Neil unfurls around him like thunder, and Kevin lets every ache of his heart loose to collide with Neil’s mouth, to shiver under the heat lighting of his hands sliding from his face to his neck, tangling in his hair. 

They pull apart and Andrew is watching them, the amused curl of his lip a contrast to the fire in his gaze. Kevin is still chasing his breath and his heartbeat but it’s not like he’s going to say no when Andrew leans towards him, a question in the raise of his eyebrow. 

Kevin Day has wanted to kiss Andrew Minyard since he punched Seth Gordon in his mother fucking nose. 

So he does. 

Andrew’s lips are hot and insistent and Kevin thinks he might be delirious. Kevin kisses Andrew with everything he has, every moment that he’s held back unleashed, and Kevin’s heart is a joyous wildfire, engulfing them all. Andrew lets him go, eventually. He kisses Kevin’s lips closed one more time, and sits back on his heels. 

“That was fucking hot,” Neil says. 

“Yeah,” Kevin breathes. Neil laughs and Andrew makes a small choked noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t laugh at me assholes,” Kevin says, but there’s no heat to it, and he lets his eyes close as he falls back on the pillows. “I liked that a lot.” 

“You think?” Andrew’s tone shoots for dry but just misses the mark and Neil laughs again. 

“Imma make breakfast,” Neil says as he scoots off the bed. “Don’t do any more kissing till I get back.” 

Andrew crawls into Neil’s place on Kevin’s good side when he’s gone, and Kevin holds his breath when Andrew settles his head on Kevin’s shoulder. 

“You cuddle now?” Kevin asks. 

“Sometimes,” Andrew says, unconcerned. “We’ll talk more, okay? Set boundaries. You will not do anything you don’t want to just because you think we want it.” 

It isn’t a question, but it is _so_ Andrew, and it makes Kevin smile. “Okay,” he says. He holds his hand up and Andrew takes it. 

“We were going to Berlin next month for a few weeks, but we will reschedule. Wait for your cast to come off. So you can come with us.” 

“You don’t have to reschedule for me.” 

“I know, but I want to,” Andrew says. 

“Why Berlin?” 

“Because that’s where my brother is.” 

“Your _what?”_ Kevin all but squawks. “Since when do you have a brother?” 

“Since I gave in and did that interview with Rolling Stone. Apparently my cousin saw the pictures from the photoshoot, and after that, well.” Andrew gestures vaguely with their joined hand, but Kevin frowns. 

“Well, what? How would they recognize you now?” 

“Aaron is my identical twin,” Andrew says. 

Kevin takes that in and all it implies. He squeezes Andrew’s hand a little too tightly. 

What he wants to say is, _I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you found out._

“There’s a lot to catch up on,” is what Kevin starts to say instead, but he is cut off by the sound of a gunshot ringing through the house.

***

Neil is twirling a strawberry between his fingers, one hip propped casually on the edge of the kitchen table, his gun pointed steadily at Riko Moriyama when Andrew slides into the kitchen, Kevin hot on his heels. Jean sits on the other side of the bar with his chin in his hand, and Jeremy is cross legged on the counter behind Neil, tapping at his phone. 

“What in the everloving fuck,” Andrew says.

“Riko buzzed in at the gate,” Jean says. “Neil let him in.”

“Yes that,” Neil agrees, taking a bite out of his strawberry. Riko squeaks but doesn’t move a muscle.

“Neil.” Andrew’s sigh is long suffering. “You can’t let people in the house just so you can point a gun at them.”

“Why not?” Neil sounds genuinely curious. He grabs another strawberry and raises an eyebrow at Andrew. 

“Because.” Andrew gestures at the hole in the drywall two feet from Riko’s head.

“He said my gun wasn’t real,” Neil says with a small shrug.

“Jeremy can fix your wall,” Jean offers. 

Jeremy looks up at that. “I can!” he says. “Oh, also, the police are on their way.”

“Kevin,” Riko speaks up for the first time, cutting eyes back and forth between Kevin and Neil’s gun. “This can’t be what you want. These people are clearly deranged. Just. Come home. We’ll work it out. I love you.”

Kevin stares at him and takes as deep of a breath as his ribs will let him. He lets it out. There is nothing there. Riko is nothing. “Shoot him,” Kevin says. 

Riko gasps. Neil perks up. “Can I?” 

“Sure,” Andrew says, but before Neil can take aim he adds, “Just don’t look at me when Madison finds out.” 

Neil considers this. “Do you think she’ll be really mad?” 

“Furious,” Andrew says. 

“Hmmm.” Neil appears to weigh the pros and cons. “I could just shoot him in the leg.” 

“Cameras,” Jean says. “You can’t claim home defense because they will pull the footage.” 

Neil deflates a little at that and grabs another strawberry. “Why don’t you rush at me?” Neil suggests to Riko. 

“Fuck you,” Riko spits back. 

“I guess that’s a no then,” Neil says with a sigh. 

“Kevin,” Riko tries again. 

“No,” Kevin interrupts him. He’s done with this. More than done. “Why are you even here Riko? I took out a restraining order. Do you know what that means? It means I never want to see you again. Is it that you are scared? Is it that you know you will never be good enough, never sell enough records without me holding you up?”

“Fuck you!” Riko bites out viscously, taking a step towards Kevin, but Neil waves his gun and he stops, vibrating with anger in Kevin’s direction. “I have always been better than you Kevin, and I always will be. You are _nothing_ without me. I should have crashed the car into a fucking wall instead, fixed it so you would never sing again.”

Kevin wants to throw up. Andrew has gone very still beside him, and Kevin realizes he’s pulled out one of his knives. Neil points a strawberry at Andrew without turning around. “If I can’t shoot him, you can’t stab him.” 

“Guys. Did he just confess to crashing the car on purpose?” Jeremy asks.

“Sure sounds like it,” Andrew says. 

“Of course I did it on purpose, you fucking idiots,” Riko brags. “I never do anything I don’t mean to do.”

Neil starts laughing. After a minute Jeremy joins in, and then Jean.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Riko yells. 

Neil catches his breath, and waves his strawberry at the corner of the ceiling. “Cameras.” He says. “Thank you for your confession. We’ll send it over to our lawyer forthwith.” 

The intercom buzzes and the cops arrive. Riko doesn’t say another word, just glares daggers at Kevin while Jean and Neil handle the questions. It’s not till they’ve cleared out that Kevin starts to sag against the wall, and Andrew prods him towards the kitchen table. Neil hands Kevin a strawberry and disappears his gun to someplace unfathomable. 

“Well that was fun,” Neil says brightly. “How about pancakes?”

***

The guest house is, in fact, a recording studio. 

Neil watches Kevin with a shit eating grin on his face as he spins around. Top of the line equipment everywhere, of course. Andrew lifts one of the guitars off a stand. 

“He never stopped writing songs,” Neil says, settling onto a stool behind one of the microphones. 

“What? I haven’t heard of any of your lyrics up for grabs,” Kevin says. 

Andrew plucks a string, turns a tuning peg, plucks again. “That’s because they aren’t up for grabs.”

Kevin watches Andrew tune until Neil hits him on the arm with a pile of handwritten sheet music. He scans the lyrics, hums the melody, feels out the hook. Flips to the next song, then the next. They are really fucking good. “Fuck, why aren’t these on the market Andrew?” 

Andrew finishes tuning, taps the guitar once in satisfaction and looks up. “Because I only write them for you to sing.” 

“Oh,” Kevin says stupidly. 

“They’re yours, if you want them. For your solo debut. I’ll produce them. You’ll have to get a backup band and singers - Neil and I have our own careers to get back to, of course.”

“Of course,” Kevin says, stunned.

Andrew holds his gaze and lets his small smile out, and Kevin loves him. 

Neil wraps careful arms around his waist, and Kevin loves him too. 

“Sing them with me?” Neil asks. 

Kevin nods, clears his throat of cobwebs, and steps to a microphone. 

Andrew thumbs the first chord, Neil smiles at him, and as he opens his mouth to sing, all Kevin can think is that he is never walking away from this again. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and love to my cheerleader [likearecord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likearecord/profile)
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr if you wanna - [justadreamfox](https://justadreamfox.tumblr.com/)


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